


Guilty Pleasure

by Spinning_In_Infinity



Category: Deadpool (Movieverse), Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Bad boy Peter, Blow Jobs, Cop!AU, Cop/Criminal, Criminal Peter, Double Penetration, Jake Gyllenhaal Quentin, M/M, Peter Wants the D, Peter gets spit-roasted, Peter is a teenage delinquent, Peter is eighteen/nineteen, Quentin's first time with a boy, Ryan Reynolds Deadpool, Slight Voyeurism Kink, Threesome, Tom Holland Peter, Very graphic sex scene, Wade and Quentin are cops, rimjob, slut peter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:13:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21811981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spinning_In_Infinity/pseuds/Spinning_In_Infinity
Summary: "Peter analysed their handsome faces; Wade’s dark eyes glittering with anticipation, Quentin’s serious expression softened slightly by the desire he was clearly trying to control. Both wanted him, and he was going to let them."Wade Wilson and Quentin Beck are NYPD cops who come across a rather pretty teenage delinquent called Peter Parker. It's hard to be professional when there's a naughty boy begging to be punished.COP!AU, threesome. Am classing this as a Christmas fic in the same way my husband classes Die Hard as a Christmas movie - it takes place at Christmas!
Relationships: Peter Parker/Wade Wilson, Quentin Beck/Peter Parker, Quentin Beck/Peter Parker/Wade Wilson, Quentin Beck/Wade Wilson
Comments: 85
Kudos: 389
Collections: Smutty Adventures not even Clorox can fix, SpideyPool*





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mikazure](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikazure/gifts).



In the force, there was generally considered to be two kinds of cop – good cop and bad cop. When Wade Wilson and Quentin Beck joined the NYPD, a new category was created – the _daymn_ cop.

Both were very handsome; Wade tall with sculpted cheekbones and captivating dark eyes, Quentin broad-shouldered with soft chestnut hair and an enticing smile. Due to their individual skills, they had more arrests between them than the entire precinct put together. One might think this would cause envy and dislike amongst the other officers, but the problem was they were just too damn likeable. Wade always first to buy a round, Quentin front of the line to help anyone struggling with their shopping. They were Swell Guys. Most of the time.

Between themselves, Wade and Quentin had set up a one-upmanship contest. What one did well, the other had to do better. It was the basis for a friendly rivalry that their partnership thrived on, and towards the end of the year, with Christmas around the corner, the competition inevitably revolved around women. Well, mostly women. Wade wasn’t fussed who he scored with, so long as he had a good time. He’d been trying to persuade Quentin to dip his toe into the other side of the pond for a while now, but his partner was still holding out.

“Is it because you’re scared you’ll never want to go back to pussy after?” Wade asked him conversationally, as they staked out a potential drugs bust.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Quentin rolled his eyes. “I’ve fucked girls in the ass before; I know what it feels like.”

“Oh, but _no-one_ sucks dick like a pretty-mouthed twink,” Wade said, licking his lips in an obscene fashion.

“I’m sure that’s offensive to someone, somewhere,” Quentin said.

“What isn’t?” Wade snorted.

“Shut up, they’re here.”

A small group of shadowed figures were emerging from the warehouse the unmarked car was parked in front of. They both recognised a couple of familiar faces. Herman Schultz, Mac Gargan – old favourites at the precinct.

“Who’s the kid?” Quentin muttered. Standing casually at Gargan’s side was a slim brunet. The infamous dealer had his arm around the boy’s waist, a large hand cupping his ass.

“Damn,” Wade whistled. “That’s a pretty son of a bitch right there.”

“Focus,” Quentin said, unsheathing his gun and gesturing for Wade to do the same. “You can perv all you want when we’ve booked them.”

“Spoilsport.”

Through the radio clipped to his shirt, Quentin checked the position of Nena and Dopinder, their temporary partners on the case. He could almost feel the waves of excitement from the rookie Dopinder. He rolled his eyes and glanced at Wade. 

“Ready?”

“On your mark, babe.”

Quentin taking the lead, they burst from their cover and surrounded the group, guns raised.

“NYPD!” Quentin yelled. Man, he never got tired of saying that. “Get down on the ground and put your hands in the air!”

Thankfully, none of the idiots were stupid enough to make a break for it, and they were divided into the cars bound for the precinct. Wade was smug that one of their travel companions was the hot young thing who called himself Peter. He didn’t seem scared at having been arrested, or even annoyed; he simply sat in the left backseat (not with Gargan, Quentin had thought it best to separate the two lovebirds), staring out of the window, as though riding the subway.

Since Wade was driving, Quentin took a chance to examine the “pretty son of a bitch” in closer detail. Although not usually attracted to guys, he had to admit the kid _was_ pretty. Up close, he looked older – eighteen or nineteen – with thick brown hair, a sharp jawline, and an irritatingly amused grin playing about his lips.

_No-one sucks dick like a pretty-mouthed twink._

Quentin allowed himself a momentary fantasy of those mirthful lips suctioned around his cock, the way those beautiful dark eyes would look up at him as he pulled on his soft hair. . .

Damn, maybe Wade had a point. He hated when Wade had a point.

Wade had never seen anyone look so chipper while sitting in a New York precinct jail, but then he’d not met Peter Benjamin Parker until today. The kid was practically _beaming_ as he gazed around the office, winking at passers-by and chattering to his cellmates. He dressed well for a nineteen-year-old who ran with drug dealers, but Wade supposed anyone on Mac Gargan’s arm would be sitting fairly pretty. Gargan himself had been dragged to the interrogation room with Quentin, and his other cronies were sulking on the bench beside Peter.

“Hey Canada,” the kid suddenly piped up, calling Wade’s attention. Clearly his natural accent wasn’t as faded as he’d thought after living in New York for ten years. He crossed the office to the jail door and looked in at Peter.

“Jailbait?” he replied. Peter laughed and winked at him. God, he’d known hookers less flirtatious than this.

“I was wondering – don’t I get a phone call or somethin’?”

Wade glanced at the clock. The official rules said any perp had the right to a phone call within three hours of being booked, and it was closing on two.

“Maybe if you ask nicely.”

Peter rose to his feet and approached the cell door. Wade took an automatic step back; the kid’s possessions had been detained (a pocketknife, a cell-phone, a half-finished pack of gum), but he’d been caught out by crafty bastards before. His wrists still linked in the cuffs, Peter gripped the bars and gazed up at Wade, his eyes so soft and pleading he made Bambi look like the Terminator.

“Please, sir,” he whispered, reaching through the bars to toy with the hem of Wade’s shirt. “It’s Christmas.”

Wade’s throat was dry. “It’s December 2nd,” he replied.

Peter shrugged. “Christmas 2nd,” he corrected.

Wade couldn’t help it, he grinned. “One call, okay?”

“That’s all I need,” Peter stepped back from the door to let Wade open it. Meek as a lamb, he allowed himself to be led down the corridor to the line of four phones on the wall. Wade stood by as he dialled a number, gave his name and asked, with a pointed look at Wade, to speak to Wilson Fisk.

_Ah._ No wonder the kid was so smug. If he was on first-name terms with one of the biggest crime lords in the city, there was barely any point keeping him here; city justice only stretched so far in such a corrupt society, and Peter was clearly clued in on this. His tone was almost conversational as he explained the situation to Fisk, like a favourite nephew wheedling money from a rich uncle. He didn’t flirt or call him “daddy”, as Wade had expected, but he was still clearly in Fisk’s favour. 

He replaced the phone with a flourish of his fingers and held out his arms towards Wade.

“Can you take these off me now?”

“No,” Wade said, securing a hand on the kid’s shoulder and steering him back towards the office. “I don’t care who keeps you in diamonds and pearls, for now you’re still our bitch.”

Peter rolled his eyes, all pretence at sweetness gone. “C’mon, dude.”

“Nope,” Wade pulled open the door of the cell and pushed Peter inside. The kid folded his arms – or as much as he could around the cuffs – and glared at Wade.

“He’s not my sugar daddy or nothin’,” he said. “I just work for him. Well, I work for Mac and _he_ works for him.”

“And he _is_ your daddy?”

“I run errands for him, keep him happy. He makes it worth my while.”

“Your folks must be so proud.”

Peter shrugged. “Wouldn’t know.”

Wade didn’t question that; there were enough orphans and runaways in the city to stage a national production of _Oliver Twist_.

“You’re a pretty little thing to be involved with those freaks,” Wade said.

The corner of Peter’s mouth quirked in satisfaction. “Why, thank you, officer. Did you write that on my file?”

“Just watch yourself,” Wade said. “Don’t get stupid and end up with a bullet in your skull.”

“Don’t worry,” Peter said. “I’m good at guessing when it’s time to get going.”

“Fisk is a big fish in a small pond,” Wade continued. “Not so easy to hide from.”

Peter cocked his head to the side, appraising the cop in front of him. “Wow. Famous NYPD hero Wade Wilson, worried about little ol’ me?”

Wade smirked and lowered his voice. “Not many lookers like you left on this side of town. Just doing my duty for the good of the people.”

Peter drew closer to the bars. “Maybe we could get a drink sometime? Without these in the way,” he ran the rim of his cuff over the bars with a _clink-clink-clink-clink._

“Oh, I dunno,” Wade murmured. “I kinda like you in restraints. Just maybe with your hands behind your back next time.”

His boldness surprised even himself. As much of a shameless flirt as he was outside of work, he usually kept himself in check while in uniform. There was just something about this kid that lit a fire in his loins. He was fighting the temptation to sneak him into the basement and fuck him senseless against a filing cabinet. If he slipped the kid a twenty he was sure he wouldn’t object.

“Maybe you could bring your buddy,” Peter said, glancing towards the interrogation room. “Looks a little more upright than you; be fun to break him down.”

Wade laughed, and Peter looked at him, surprised. “Wouldn’t it just?” he nodded. He envisioned a scene with the three of them together – Peter astride Wade’s body, his cock embedded deep in his ass, Quentin’s sheathed inside his sweet mouth. God, he was getting hard just at the thought.

He wasn’t surprised, though disappointed, to see Dopinder approaching with a confused and apologetic look on his pointed face.

“Sir, there is a gentleman at the front desk saying he’s here on behalf of . . . _Wilson Fisk_.” He whispered the name as though it would summon the criminal overlord if spoken too loudly, like an overweight Voldemort.

With the bail money paid and the threat of villainous retribution hanging over their heads, Wade and Quentin had no choice but to release Peter, Gargan, Schultz and the others with no more than dirty looks in their wake. As he passed, Peter spared a wink at the two officers.

“Next time,” he whispered, before speeding up to nuzzle under Gargan’s muscular arm.

The criminal underworld of New York seemed to be expanding, the rats who occupied it getting cocky. Over the next three weeks, Wade and Quentin’s workload almost tripled trying to apprehend as many of them as weren’t bailed out by their bosses. More than a couple of times, they were sure they spotted Peter amongst the crowd, but he was always gone before they got a chance to look. He’d clearly learned from his one afternoon in custody, or maybe Fisk wasn’t as generous with his favours as to bail him out more than once.

On a rare free evening, the two partners decided to drown their complaints in a few drinks at one of the nearby bars that wasn’t so frequented by cops. At the others, almost everyone would offer to buy them drinks, but would expect stories of arrests and adventures as payment, and neither of them was up for entertaining.

They sat at a corner table, nursing pints in silence for fifteen minutes, before Wade spoke:

“So. . . you’ve really never gone with a guy?”

Quentin blinked and frowned at him, confused. “That’s random.”

“Nah, just thinking of the Parker kid.”

Quentin rolled his eyes, taking a swig of beer. “You need to let that shit go.”

“I will _not_ ,” Wade said, affronted. “My life will not be complete until I can say I’ve been balls deep in—”

“Alright, voice down!” Quentin glanced at the nearby table, where a group of girls in their twenties were having after-work cocktails. One of them, a pretty blonde in a pink dress-suit, saw him looking and smiled welcomingly. He nodded politely and turned his attention back to Wade.

“Y’just don’t _get_ it, dude,” Wade said, lowering his voice to pacify his twitchy friend. “It’s not just the ass, it’s the whole thing. When you’ve got it in front of you – smooth skin, slim waist, long legs, perfect ass—”

“I could get that with a girl,” Quentin said.

“Ahh, not the same, not the same,” Wade shook his head, taking a drink. “Can’t really explain it; it’s somethin’ you gotta _feel_.”

“Look, I’m not saying I’d _never_ do it,” Quentin said. “It’s just . . . there’s never been a guy I’ve wanted.”

“ _Never_?” Wade prompted.

“Okay, yes – Parker.” Quentin admitted. “But that’s it.”

“C’mon . . .” Wade smirked, and Quentin knew what was coming. “You’ve never looked at _this_ fine piece of man and thought about it?”

“No.”

“Course you have,” Wade drained his bottle and patted Quentin’s knee, and Quentin smacked his hand away.

“One time – _one time_ – I said I’d _maybe_ do a threesome with you,” he hissed. “Does _not_ mean I want to fuck you.”

“No, but it _does_ mean you wouldn’t mind seeing my cock.”

“Provided I didn’t have to touch it, no.”

“But that’s just ‘cause it’s _my_ cock, right? If it was Parker’s . . .?”

“I don’t know!” Quentin was losing patience. The pretty girls jumped and moved away from his raised voice. “If I had Parker laid out naked in front of me, legs open and begging to be fucked, maybe I’d consider it. _Maybe_.”

Wade sat back, satisfied. “Did I tell you what he said, that night at the precinct?”

Quentin sighed. “Maybe. I don’t remember.”

“He said you’d be fun to break down. The kid would totally fuck you.”

“Really,” Quentin raised an eyebrow.

“And me,” Wade added. He wasn’t about to let Quentin take all the glory. “He said he’d fuck me too. Both of us. Think about it – you, me and the kid, a happy ball of limbs and dicks.”

“Please stop calling him a kid,” Quentin glanced at the nearby patrons. “It sounds so wrong.”

The bar closed at one, and so the two of them – tired but nowhere near as drunk as they intended to be – ambled down the street towards Quentin’s apartment. It was infinitely bigger and cleaner than Wade’s, so it was where their guys’ nights usually ended. It was on the first floor of a large converted townhouse, which was a merciful difference from the six flights of stairs Wade had to climb to reach _his_ place (he was seriously considering taking a class in engineering, just to fix the elevator). Quentin went to push his key through the lock, before noticing the door was already standing ajar. Since the upstairs tenants were on vacation in Vermont for the Christmas break, and Quentin _never_ failed to lock up after leaving, this left only one plausible explanation.

Entering Cop Mode, he slowly pushed open the door, peering into the dim hallway beyond. The door to his apartment was on the left, the upstairs family’s on the right, up a flight of stairs. The soft sound of rummaging could be heard from beyond the wall.

Both men knew they weren’t sober enough to safely draw their guns, so would have to settle for hand-to-hand combat if it came to a fight. From the sounds inside, it would be two against one, so neither was perturbed by this. Quentin mouthed “one, two, three” and then they were both pushing into the room. The door to Quentin’s apartment opened up into the kitchen, where evidence of a burglary was clear. A mid-height person in a black hooded sweater and jeans was standing, back facing them, by the corner dresser. Under one arm, they were carrying Quentin’s laptop, the other hand clutched around one of the long carving knives from the dresser.

“NYPD,” Quentin said, quietly, so as not to startle them into any sudden movements. “Put the knife and laptop down, and put your hands on your head.”

Slowly, the intruder turned to face them. They had a camo-green scarf pulled across the lower half of their face, hood pulled low over brown hair, dark eyes glinting in the light from the streetlamp outside.

“Would you believe,” they said, in a startlingly familiar voice, “that I _didn’t_ know this was your place?”

Wade immediately started laughing, all tension draining from his stance. Quentin, less quick to relax, stayed on guard as Wade walked towards the would-be burglar. There was no resistance as he removed the knife from Peter’s hand, pulling the scarf down to reveal his nervously grinning mouth.

“Seriously, kid,” he said. “Of _all_ the places you could break into, you choose a _cop’s_?”

“Seriously, officer,” Peter replied, imitating Wade’s tone. “I didn’t know it was yours.”

“Not mine,” Wade gestured over his shoulder at Quentin. “Little soldier boy here.” He looked at his friend, still standing rigid by the door. “Come on, dude, ease up. He can’t exactly get away with both of us here.”

Although a little nervous, Peter didn’t exactly look terrified at having broken into a police officer’s home in the middle of the night. He looked far too easy-going for Quentin’s liking. In three large strides, he closed in on Peter and pushed him by the shoulders into a chair. A flash of genuine fear graced his features for a moment as Quentin loomed over him.

“You think you can just waltz in here and take whatever you want?” he said in low, threatening tones. Peter glanced hopefully at Wade, who merely shrugged in a ‘he’s right, what d’you want me to do?” sort of way. He made himself useful by removing the laptop from Peter’s grip and placing it on the dining table.

“What else did you get your sticky hands on, huh?” Quentin’s eyes scanned Peter’s body. He stepped back. “On your feet.”

Peter obeyed at once.

“You can’t hurt me, Beck,” he said defensively, not quite so smug as last time they’d met. “I know people.”

“And we _are_ people,” Quentin said. “We’re the law here, kid.”

Wade contained a snigger as Sylvester Stallone’s face from _Judge Dredd_ came into his mind. Peter clearly hadn’t seen the movie, however, since he still looked close to peeing his pants. This was turning into quite the eventful evening. Wade walked slowly around the two of them to stand behind Peter. He began patting down his torso, his arms, his legs, unearthing a roll of $20 bills, a gold watch, some diamond jewellery, and an iPhone X.

“Wow, kid,” he said, placing the items on the counter behind them. “You _have_ been a busy little bee.”

“Been on a little shopping spree tonight, huh?” Quentin pinched Peter’s chin between his thumb and forefinger. Wade watched with interest; he couldn’t quite read his partner’s expression. He was clearly trying to freak Peter out, but he didn’t look genuinely angry.

“I can tell you where it all came from,” Peter said. He seemed to have forgotten his supposed immunity to any punishment; perhaps he wasn’t so deep in Wilson Fisk’s back pocket now as he would have them believe. Crafty little devils like him rarely stayed loyal to one gang leader for long – stability just wasn’t in their nature.

“Damn right you can,” Wade said, decided to throw in his two cents. He tightened his grip on Peter’s upper arms, pinning him in position. “You think we’re just gonna let you walk on outta here?”

This was starting to sound like the intro to a semi-decent porno, a fact that clearly wasn’t lost on Peter. He glanced back at Wade, who tipped him a wink. Quentin, however, wasn’t feeling so playful.

“This isn’t a joke, Wade,” he growled. “I’m not just gonna let him get away with it.”

“I’m not suggesting we should,” Wade said. He met Quentin’s furious eye and threw his hands up in the air. “Fine. Do what you want with him.”

Peter watched, helpless, as his potential ally walked away, leaned against the doorframe, and waited to watch the scene unfold. He could see the gears whirring in Peter’s head, calculating each way he could possibly get out of this situation.

_Go on, kid,_ he thought. _You know you want to._

“Please,” Peter said, turning soft, imploring eyes back to Quentin. “There’s got to be something else I can do.”

_Bingo._

Taking the plunge, Peter dropped to his knees, placing both hands behind his back, eyes gazing up at Quentin like he was suddenly the most wonderful human being on Earth. Wade had to admire the dedication to his craft.

Quentin’s words failed him for a moment, and Wade knew exactly what he was thinking, since it was the exact same thing that was blooming gloriously inside his own mind.

_“. . . begging to be fucked.”_

His own words echoing around his head, Quentin swallowed. Peter’s delicately flushed lips were enticingly parted, every movement of his slim body singing the words floating, unsaid, in the air around them. He could feel Wade’s gaze boring into the back of his skull, waiting to see what he would do. If it were up to him, Peter would already be naked on the dining table, but Quentin liked to imagine he had a few more scruples rattling around than his partner did. Just one or two.

Clearly not enough.

His resolution snapping like a dry twig, he reached down and grabbed Peter by the front of his sweater, dragging him to his feet and over his shoulder in a lift the New York Fire Department would have been proud of. Peter let himself be carried from the room, Wade following, through to Quentin’s bedroom. It was a minimalist space – king-size bed dressed in white linen, a desk where his laptop usually sat, a wardrobe, and a full-length mirror fixed on the wall beside it. Peter was deposited – none too gently, he felt – on the mattress, hair falling across his forehead as he stared up at the two men. He analysed their handsome faces; Wade’s dark eyes glittering with anticipation, Quentin’s serious expression softened slightly by the desire he was clearly trying to control. Both wanted him, and he was going to let them.

As though they’d rehearsed it, the older men both set to work on Peter’s clothes; Quentin pulling at the neck of his sweater, Wade tugging off his sneakers and unzipping his jeans. Peter raised his arms and shuffled his ankles where needed, until he was lying in just his boxer shorts against the soft duvet. A deft movement from Quentin, and he was naked before them. Wade, having seen many more varieties of body-type than Quentin, couldn’t remember having seen a more perfect male form; his smooth skin was creamy white, save for a small patch of freckles across his clavicle. His lower stomach was soft with downy golden hair that darkened into the curls above his groin. His legs were long and slender, one knee tucked behind the other as he gazed coquettishly up at them.

Wade began disposing of his own clothes, Quentin following suit somewhat awkwardly. He was clearly in possession of a considerable hard-on, but his expression betrayed a little of his inexperience. Peter noticed this and changed position, crawling down the bed towards him, until his lips were almost touching the straining fabric of Quentin’s boxers.

“This your first time with a boy, Mr. Beck?” he asked. He hooked his fingers over Quentin’s waistband and pulled downwards, exposing the man’s genitals. Wade noted with satisfaction that, while Quentin’s cock was slightly thicker, his was longer. Quentin was frozen to the spot, all bravado on standby, as Peter extended his moist, pink tongue and licked up the underside of his cockhead.

A shiver passed through the whole of Quentin’s body as the boy set to work on him. He had one hand supporting himself on the bed, the other wrapped around the base of his cock, his fingers – so small and slender compared to his – jerking off the length that wasn’t being pleasured by that warm, wet mouth. . . He’d been sucked off before by countless girls, but the idea that it was Peter doing it – the concept of fucking a boy still alien and more than a little taboo in his mind – added an extra layer to the experience that he’d never felt before. And _fuck_ Peter was _good_. He’d clearly done this before. He took Quentin in deeper, the head pressing into the narrow cave of his throat, before pulling away and taking one of Quentin’s balls in his mouth, suckling at the sensitive flesh while he ran his fist up and down the shaft.

Wade, who’d been standing to the side slowly jerking himself off during this spectacle, was bored of waiting. Ignoring Quentin’s grunt of annoyance, he gently took the boy’s throat in his fingers and steered him away from his partner and towards his own waiting erection. Instead of letting Peter do all the work, he ran his hands through the boy’s thick brown hair and held him still, thrusting into his mouth – shallowly at first and then deeper – until he elicited the _glorious_ deep, wet choking sounds from his throat. Quentin may want to be led by the hand down the garden path, but he certainly didn’t. He wanted to push the kid’s face into the ground and fuck him ‘til he forgot his middle name. Peter closed his eyes and let Wade use his mouth like a fuck-hole, his right hand fumbling through the air until it reached Quentin’s neglected cock. It was like being in a real-life porno, Quentin thought. He couldn’t have guessed how hot it would be to watch his pain-in-the-ass partner get sucked off by a teenage delinquent while getting jerked off at the same time.

When Wade released Peter, he pulled back with a gasp, wiping at the spit daubed across his chin with the back of his wrist. Wade decided it was time to take charge of the situation. He pushed on Peter’s shoulders and pressed him firmly into the mattress, sinking to his knees on the floor at the end of the bed. Resting Peter’s thighs on his shoulders, he pulled the boy’s ass cheeks apart and lavished his hole with his tongue. Quentin, showing more initiative than Wade would have given him credit for, crawled onto the bed and hovered over Peter’s face. Peter took his cock in his mouth once more and Quentin moaned as the new position allowed him to push even deeper, the intrusion causing Peter throat to constrict around him.

Peter was in a whirlwind of sensation. The musky smell of Quentin in his nostrils combined with Wade’s tongue was more sensual than he could have imagined. He’d never fucked two such attractive guys before, let alone at the same time. He secured his palms on Quentin’s ass and guided him into a thrusting motion. Wade’s arm reached up and his fingers rested loosely around Peter’s throat, feeling for the rhythmic swell beneath the skin as Quentin’s cock invaded his oesophagus.

Wade glanced up and caught Quentin’s gaze. He’d never been so close to those clear blue eyes, certainly not during such intimacy as this, and decided to act on impulse. Cupping his hand around the back of Quentin’s head, he pressed their lips together, slipping his tongue inside his partner’s mouth. To his surprise, Quentin didn’t pull away at once, and even kissed him back for a moment before releasing himself and rising to his knees.

Peter was flushed and breathless as Quentin’s cock popped from his mouth. Wade climbed onto the bed, caging the boy in with his arms and torso, and kissed him passionately. Peter wrapped his arms and legs around Wade’s body and kissed him back, relishing the older man’s hard, muscular body against his own. He felt so small, so breakable, next to these powerful gods.

“Time to show my friend a good time, baby boy,” Wade said, pulling the kid into a sitting position. He gestured to Quentin. “Lie down.”

Quentin obeyed, propping his head with a couple of pillows, and watching in thinly-veiled lust as Peter mounted him. His large hands stroked and admired the boy’s body, settling on his narrow waist as Peter lined himself up against the head of Quentin’s dripping cock. Wade’s attentions to his asshole helped Quentin slip easily inside, and both of them gasped at the union. Peter sank slowly to the base, wincing as he stretched around the cock piercing him.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Quentin closed his eyes and jerked unconsciously upwards, drawing a surprised whimper from Peter’s parted lips. Wade leaned in and kissed the boy on the mouth, muffling his moans as Quentin began to thrust in earnest. The slap of skin on skin, combined with Quentin’s grunts and Peter’s gasps, was music to Wade’s ears. Standing beside the bed, he turned Peter’s head and pushed his cock between his lips, fucking his mouth as Quentin fucked his ass. One of the boy’s hands stroked Wade’s cock and balls, the other was on his own cock, jerking himself off in time to Quentin’s firm thrusts.

“Okay, my turn,” Wade picked Peter up under his arms and removed him from Quentin’s cock.

“Dude!” Quentin squawked furiously as Wade planted the boy on his knees beside him and pushed him onto all fours.

“Whaddya say, baby?” he chuckled.

“Please,” Peter whispered. “Fuck m- _ahh_!”

The words cut off as Wade pushed completely inside him. The boy’s arms trembled and gave way, his face burying in the fluffy duvet. Wade moaned loudly as the tight muscles of Peter’s ass surrounded him, the soft flesh within like a warm vacuum around his dick. Refusing to be left out, Quentin tugged the boy back onto his hands and slipped his cock into Peter’s mouth. The humming of Peter’s moans against the over-sensitised flesh was like a blissful massage. He shot an angry look at Wade, who grinned and winked at him. He watched, somewhat spellbound, at the way Wade’s long cock disappeared inside the boy’s body over and over again, the ring of Peter’s hole stretching outwards when he pulled back.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” Wade grunted, snapping his hips sharply against Peter’s ass. An evil glint shone in his eyes. “I got an idea.”

A brief look of concern crossed Peter’s pretty face for a moment, but a hard thrust from Wade clouded it with pleasure.

“On your back, bud,” he instructed Quentin, who raised a questioning eyebrow, but did as he was told.

“Get on,” Wade said to Peter, gesturing to Quentin’s rock-hard cock. Peter closed his eyes as he pulled away from Wade and returned to his position astride Quentin. Without a moment’s pause, Quentin pushed back inside Peter’s reddened hole.

“Oh _God_ ,” Peter moaned.

“On my way, baby,” Wade grinned. He stilled Peter’s hips and shuffled up behind him, knees either side of Quentin’s legs. Peter, knowing what was coming, leaned over, securing his hands on the bed. He took the opportunity to kiss Quentin deeply, the man’s soft beard hairs brushing against his lips.

“Gonna take this slow, ‘kay?” Wade said, and Peter nodded. He took a deep breath and screwed his eyes shut as Wade began to push his cock in alongside Quentin’s. Quentin’s eyes widened as the new arrival slid against him, shrinking the space and heightening the sensation to dizzying proportions. Peter whimpered in pain and Wade reach around his body, massaging his cock and applying sloppy kisses to the side of his neck.

“That’s it, good boy,” he murmured. “You can do it.”

Quentin hadn’t seen such a tender look on Wade’s face before. Combined with the bliss Peter’s body was providing, his expression was nothing short of beautiful. Their eyes met and Wade smiled at him – genuinely, without any trace of smugness or irony. His eyes moved to Peter; the boy was breathing heavily, still adjusting to such a big intrusion. Quentin raised a hand and stroked the side of his gorgeous face. Peter opened his eyes, bright with tears and exertion, and laughed awkwardly.

Slowly at first, both men began to fuck their pretty toy. Wade had more freedom to thrust than Quentin, but the friction his movements provided was enough to keep him stimulated. Quentin busied himself with jerking off Peter’s – considerably smaller – cock, lying abandoned between their stomachs. It was taking every ounce of Peter’s strength to stay aloft, so he couldn’t touch himself he way he wanted. The boy couldn’t describe what he was feeling if he’d had an entire dictionary. The mix of pain and pleasure, being so _full_ that he wasn’t sure he could take it, was like being caught in a cocoon of sensation. Gloriously trapped between these two beautiful men, the object of their conjoined desires. Wade wrapped one arm around Peter’s body, his strength holding him up as he felt the boy’s limbs trembling.

“Wade,” Quentin grunted. “I’m close.”

“Yeah, me too,” Wade panted, pressing a kiss to the side of Peter’s face. “Baby boy?”

“Y-yeah. . .” Peter gasped. He could feel the pressure building in his balls, white-hot magic beginning to stir in the pit of his stomach.

Wade came first. He buried himself to the hilt inside Peter, deep enough to almost tear him, sharp, shallow thrusts edging him closer to the end.

“Fuck, _fuck_ ,” he moaned. He caught Peter’s ear between his teeth and licked at his lobe. The boy shuddered and that was enough. He shot his load, thick ropes of come spurting deep inside, his face a kaleidoscope of ecstasy.

Next was Peter. As Quentin’s strokes on his cock grew more erratic, his balls tightened and he cried out loudly with the stream of white fluid that spattered across Quentin’s chest. The ripples of tension in his ass was enough to send Quentin over the edge. His come merged with Wade’s, filling Peter up so much that it began to leak out before they’d even removed their cocks from his bruised hole.

For about five minutes they lay there, all three in a sweaty, sticky heap. Peter felt wrung out, used, in the best possible way, and neither Wade nor Quentin could remember feeling quite _this_ satisfied after a passionate tryst.

Quentin was the first to move. He shifted underneath the weight of both Wade _and_ Peter, and they both rolled to the side to let him up. After planting a kiss on Peter’s mouth, then, after a brief hesitation, on Wade’s, he headed to the bathroom. Wade and Peter lay still on the bed, listening to the shower running. Peter nestled in the nook of Wade’s arm, his head pressed against the spot over which his heart was still racing.

“Well done, baby,” Wade said.

Three weeks of fucking in dark corners and Wade’s shitty apartment had been a fun experience, but the goal had always been to invite Quentin into their little club

“I like him,” Peter said.

“So do I,” Wade nodded. “Good performance earlier, by the way.”

“Thank you,” Peter grinned. “Reckon he bought it?”

Wade shrugged. “If he didn’t, it still worked.”

“And the deal’s still on?” Peter said, raising his head to look straight into Wade’s face. “You’ll protect me?”

“Darlin’, I’ll defend your ass as though it were my own,” Wade kissed Peter’s forehead. “You’ll probably want to stay here, though. My place is kinda—”

“Disgusting?”

Wade tapped the tip of his nose. “Rude.”

Peter giggled. “You don’t think he’ll mind?”

“Mind what?”

They both looked up to see Quentin standing in the bathroom doorway, the shower still running. He had a towel wrapped around his waist and his dark hair was wet and untidy. He made Wade want to try for round two.

“Kid needs a place to hang for a little while,” Wade said, sitting up. “Keep him away from Gargan and Fisk.”

Quentin sighed. “You planned this all along, didn’t you?”

“Of course.”

Quentin ran a hand through his hair and smiled ruefully. “Guess it wouldn’t be so bad. Even if I have to have _you_ around and all.”

“We’ll be the Three Musketeers,” said Wade, “who fuck each other.”

“More like the Three Stooges,” Quentin chuckled.

Wade pulled a face. “Well, whatever turns you on, babe.”

Peter disentangled himself from the sheets and headed into the bathroom, making a good show of displaying his perfect ass as he went. Wade and Quentin watched in silent appreciation until the door closed behind him.

“So,” Quentin said, sitting down on the bed beside his partner. “This is us.”

“This is us,” Wade agreed. He placed a hand over Quentin’s and cocked his head. He was hot when he wasn’t being a smartass, Quentin thought. “You, me, and baby boy makes three.”

“This probably isn’t normal,” Quentin said, allowing Wade to link their fingers together.

“Nope,” Wade grinned. “And since when was normal any fun?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wade has a plan. It involves Quentin. Quentin and a lot of lube.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this was meant to just be a one-shot, but I love these boys and this dynamic too much to let them go just yet.

Not for the first time that week, Quentin was starting to wonder if he'd made a terrible mistake.

"Wade?" he called down the hall. "What the fuck is this in my living room?"

"What d'ya say, honey-pie?" Wade appeared from the kitchen. He was in civvies - faded black jeans and a grey Henley shirt that hugged his muscled biceps. He looked hot as hell, but Quentin wasn't in the mood to notice. He pointed at the monstrosity hanging on the living-room wall. "What is that?"

Wade peered innocently round the door. "Art.”

Quentin narrowed his eyes and glared at the framed poster hanging in what had once been the space for his art-deco _Blade Runner_ wall-hanging. It portrayed the four women from _Golden Girls_ with the words SQUAD GOALS emblazoned across the top in gold letters. 

"I want it out of my house and humanely destroyed. Or inhumanely, I don't give a shit."

Wade pouted so hard he looked like he should be quacking in a park boating lake. " _Our_ house, sweetie-buns.”

“Okay, enough with the double-barrelled pet names. Look, _you_ wanted to move in. I was cool with things as they were.”

“Of course you were – you had our little Petey-Pie wrapped up all nice and snug in your little love-nest while I was slumming it at Casa de Wilson.”

“It’s hardly _my_ fault you live in squalor.”

“Besides, he’s mine too. Think of it as joint ownership.”

“He’s not a dog, Wade.”

Wade gasped dramatically and clutched a hand to his chest. “ _Quentin_. He is our sweet, precious baby boy. How could you _think_ of such a thing?”

Quentin rolled his eyes. “Whatever. The poster still has to go.”

The sound of footsteps on the front steps made both men look round. Peter was standing in the doorway, a box of Wade’s stuff balanced in his arms. He was wearing one of Quentin’s large white T-shirts over jeans and sneakers, the fabric sagging over his skinny frame and making him look adorably tiny. He glanced from Quentin to Wade, eyebrows raised.

“Whatcha talking about?”

Wade grinned and held out a hand towards Peter, who set the box down on the floor and hurried to nestle in beneath his muscular arm.

“Don’t worry, baby. Mommy doesn’t like Daddy’s taste in contemporary art.”

Quentin closed his eyes as if pained. “Do _not_ call me ‘Mommy’.”

“You’re right,” Wade clapped his other hand on Quentin’s shoulder. “Same-sex parenting is the step forward. Which would you prefer – Dad or Papa?”

“I’d prefer you to shut the hell up.”

“Nah, you love my dulcet tones too much.” Wade planted a kiss on Quentin’s cheek and another on Peter’s. “I’m off to get lunch. Pizza, sweetie?”

Peter nodded. “Whatever you’re having.”

“That’s my boy.” Wade grabbed Peter’s face in both hands and delivered a deep, tongue-happy kiss to his mouth. Peter’s slim fingers gripped the back of Wade’s shirt as he reciprocated, and Quentin felt a stab of envy, though of whom he couldn’t decide.

Wade pulled away, smiling; the soft, heartfelt smile he reserved only for Peter and – in rare moments – Quentin. He grabbed his keys from the hall table and, almost as an afterthought, tugged Quentin towards him by the collar of his shirt. Quentin closed his eyes, allowing a touch of weakness to permeate his usual bravado, and felt Wade’s lips curled in a grin against his own.

“Spinach and sun-dried tomato,” he said dryly, when they pulled apart.

“Gotcha,” Wade slipped on his aviators and disappeared down the hall, pulling the front door closed as he stepped through.

Peter turned to Quentin and fastened his arms loosely around his waist. “Y’know,” he said. “I think I prefer Papa.”

“Don’t you start,” Quentin bumped his nose against Peter’s and kissed his forehead. They both looked at the poster on the wall, the four women staring back at them with permanently glazed smiles.

“It’s gonna have to fucking stay there, isn’t it?”

Peter nodded. “Yep.”

Quentin sighed. “How does he _always_ get his way?”

Peter looked up at him, chin rested on his shoulder. “Because he’s Wade.”

It was Quentin’s bed Peter crawled into that night. It was close to 2:15am, and he knew Wade would be out for the count, unshakable, until at least 5:30, when he arose to do his morning workout. It sounded childish to say he’d had a bad dream, and Quentin knew better than to ask, so he simply lifted the covers and let the boy curl up beside him.

Details of Peter’s life in Wilson Fisk’s drug circle had become better known to both him and Wade in the past two months, since their strange relationship had taken root and began to flourish. In between the luxurious gifts and trips to tropical islands, Mac Gargan (or whichever gang member Peter was favourited by at the time) hadn’t always been the most considerate of lovers. There were marks between Peter’s shoulder-blades from where he’d scraped his fingernails down the boy’s back, hard enough to draw blood, and he’d been on the receiving end of more than a few back-hands if his patron had come home drunk and angry.

He knew he was as safe as he could be right where he was – in the house and beds of New York’s finest cops, but it didn’t stop the villains coming after him in his dreams. It wasn’t as if he knew anything that could make him a threat to Mac, or Fisk himself, but men like that never liked to give up their toys without a tantrum. He hadn’t left a note or anything explaining where he’d gone; simply grabbed what possessions he could fit in his backpack and left. Boys like him were a dime a dozen – Mac’s bed wouldn’t be cold for long – but it made him anxious nonetheless, even nestled in Quentin’s strong arms.

The sound of Quentin’s steady heartbeat drummed rhythmically against his ear. It was calm, soothing, but he didn’t want to go to sleep just yet. He could tell by the timbre of Quentin’s breathing that he wasn’t yet fully asleep either and decided to make things more interesting. Sliding his hand beneath the sheets, he pressed it against the hard muscles of Quentin’s abdomen, moving downwards until he felt the thatch of curly hair between his fingers. With slow, fluid movements, he coaxed Quentin’s sleepy cock into life, feeling the soft flesh tensing and thickening, until it curved upwards towards his navel. Quentin didn’t open his eyes, but moaned appreciatively as Peter ducked beneath the covers and took him into his mouth. He pushed aside the duvet to give the boy some breathing space, and rested the back of his forearm against his forehead, his back arching slightly as the tip of his cock hit Peter’s throat. His mind misted with tiredness, it was like sinking into a warm bath, every nerve in his body humming.

Peter closed his eyes and relished the musky taste of Quentin on his tongue. He could have recognised his lovers’ respective cocks blindfolded just by their flavour, by the size and girth, by the differing quantities of cum he could milk from them with his mouth, hand or ass. He loved it best when they were both inside him, when the three of them were merged into one being – a fusion of lust and adoration.

Quentin knew he wasn’t going to last long when Peter started toying with his balls, rolling them expertly between his fingers, rubbing against the spot between his sack and asshole. He spread his legs to allow him better access and tangled one hand in Peter’s tousled mop of hair.

“Mmm, Peter . . .” he murmured, his breath catching. “Yeah, baby . . . that’s it . . . keep going . . .”

Peter didn’t speed up; he wanted Quentin’s orgasm to be long, drawn out. He could almost feel it building beneath his fingers, against his tongue. He knew Quentin’s body as well as he knew Wade’s – as well as he knew his own.

“Nnng, fuck—” Quentin’s voice tightened, his fingers in Peter’s hair gripping harder. “Baby . . . fuck . . . yeah—!”

Peter pumped the base of Quentin’s cock as the warm cum flooded his taste-buds with salty bitterness, swallowing every drop. Quentin smiled, appreciating the lack of clean-up required on his part – it really was too warm and comfortable to move. Peter made a quick visit to the en-suite to gargle with some mouthwash (he always sucked down Quentin and Wade’s cum with delight, but the aftertaste left a little to be desired).

Crawling back under the covers, he nestled against Quentin’s side and closed his eyes, one arm draped across the older man’s torso, the other wedged a little awkwardly between their bodies. He breathed in the fading scent of aftershave that lingered on the line of Quentin’s jaw; he wore Black Orchid by Tom Ford, while Wade favoured Dior’s Sauvage. Peter wore the scent of both men on his skin – the ultimate aphrodisiac.

They soon fell asleep, neither hearing the door open and the soft padding of footsteps across the wood-panelled floor. Wade stood beside the bed, hair mussed and sleepy-eyed. He’d gone for a leak and heard the unmistakable sounds of Fun coming from Quentin’s room. He looked down at the two sleeping figures, the streetlamp outside illuminating them in an angelic golden glow. For a moment, he appreciated Peter’s creamy white skin, the sinewy muscle of youth in his arms and back. His eyes flicked to Quentin, taking in his thick dark lashes, long enough to brush the skin beneath his eyes. His full lips were parted slightly, and Wade wished he could kiss them without waking him up. He harboured more affection for Quentin than he’d willingly admit in his sober hours. Wade was a lucky motherfucker and he knew it, caught between two such roses in a city of thorns; Quentin a paragon of masculine beauty, Peter the very essence of youth and grace. His own Zeus and Ganymede.

The bed wasn’t really big enough to hold three people – especially two strapping men and a willowy nineteen-year-old – but he climbed in all the same. Quentin was jolted awake and gazed blearily at the new addition, sighing. Wade shuffled closer to Peter, the gentle curve of his spine slotting easily against Wade’s torso, and stretched an arm across the covers until his hand met Quentin’s. The other man allowed their fingers to intertwine, and Wade smiled.

Wade had an idea.

When Wade had an idea, it generally went one of two ways; either he told everyone he met about it in incredible detail, after which the whole affair almost certainly amounted to nothing, or he kept it to himself, plotting and scheming, until nothing could stand in the way of making it happen.

This idea was in the latter category. He’d been sitting on it for weeks, and now was the time to start laying the foundation stones.

“What’s the biggest thing you’ve had up your butt?”

The beer that had been merrily making its way down Quentin’s throat decided a far better route would be down both his nostrils. Coughing against the shock, he gazed disbelievingly at Wade, eyes brimming. Wade continued to look innocently curious, as though he’d merely asked what his favourite flavour of potato chip was.

“You’re not seriously asking me that?” 

“Why not? Can’t a man ask his boyfriend a simple question?”

“Wade,” Quentin frowned. “You are _not_ my ‘boyfriend’.”

For a second, Wade looked genuinely taken aback. “The hell, dude?”

“Well . . . we’re not, like, _together_ . . . like that.”

“What _are_ we, then?”

“We’re partners, Wade. And, well . . . fuck-buddies, I guess, if you want to label it. We just share Peter.”

Wade sat back against the leather backrest of the booth, his dark eyes fixed on Quentin’s blue ones. “ _I_ consider you my boyfriend.”

“Thanks . . .?” Quentin shrugged. “What d’you want me to say?”

“What did you think all those kisses were for?”

“Knowing you – ‘for the LOLs’.”

Inside, his heart was hammering with the effort of appearing casual. Sex was one thing, but this kinda shit was _not_ up his street. Especially not when Wade was involved.

“You know,” Wade said, taking a draft of his own pint, eyes not leaving Quentin’s face. “Fuck buddies actually . . . well, fuck.”

“We _do_ fuck. Damn Wade, you get amnesia since last night?”

_Oh_ no, Wade certainly had _not_ forgotten the glorious evening they’d spent spit-roasting their young ward until his mouth and asshole were loose and wet as a plus-size bathing suit.

“No, we fuck _Peter_. _We—_ ” he gestured between the two of them, “don’t. Why is that?”

“Because . . .” Quentin stumbled, staring into his half-empty glass as though it held all the secrets of the universe. “That’s not what we are.”

“Quentin.” The unexpected softness in the other man’s voice made him look up. Wade was still staring at him, his expression laced with incredulity. “It’s always been us. You, me, _and_ Peter. We’re an OT3.”

“I have no idea what that is.”

“You have too much of a life, spend more of it on the Internet.” Not caring they were in the middle of a crowded bar in downtown Queens, Wade touched his fingers to Quentin’s, stroking across the calloused knuckles. The gentleness of the gesture made Quentin catch his breath. “You’re a masterpiece, babe. Let me appreciate you.” the tip of Wade’s thumb rested on the inside of his wrist, over his pulse-point. Could he feel how fast the blood was beating in Quentin’s veins?

Quentin had seduced many people and been seduced in kind – by women. Unlike a lot of guys, he wasn’t ignorant when it came to recognising flirtation when it came his way. If Wade had been a busty blonde in a tight black dress, they’d have been in a cab heading back to his apartment five minutes into the conversation. But it _was_ Wade, and these days Wade made him nervous in a way that was totally foreign to him. He felt like Indiana Jones in _The Last Crusade_ , tiptoeing from letter to letter in the Word of God chamber; he _thought_ he knew the right plates to step on, but any moment the ground could give way beneath him and swallow him. He wasn’t sure which he was more afraid of – getting hurt or being made a fool, and he knew Wade was perfectly capable of both. Hell had no fury like a woman scorned, and no temptation crueller than a guy who knew just how handsome he was. Ironically, that guy was usually Quentin. He took a moment to question if this was how every woman, every pretty thing that had gazed at him with hope shining from their eyes, felt when he seduced them. It was terrifying and utterly exhilarating.

“What do you want?” he asked, voice low. Wade’s smile broadened – he knew he’d won. He leaned in and whispered against Quentin’s ear, the tickle of his voice making him shiver:

“Everything.”

The house was dark and quiet when they opened the door; Peter was visiting his aunt in Forest Hills (his life on the wrong side of the fence had been a cause of intense worry for her, and she was relieved by his new occupation as professional eye candy for two police officers).

Quentin’s stomach cartwheeled when he felt Wade’s hands settle on his waist. Wade stood taller than him just enough to rest his chin in the hollow of Quentin’s shoulder. The scratch of stubble felt alien against the sensitive skin there, the scent of another man’s body setting his nerves jangling. This was different to how it felt with Peter; he was young, smooth, nymph-like in his physique. Wade was broad, his body hard and masculine, his hands rough and his lips demanding. He was an alpha male, and he knew how to get what he wanted.

Once they were inside, the door closed, Wade spun Quentin round and crowded him against the wall, one of Quentin’s hands pinned to the wall at his shoulder, the other grasping a handful of Wade’s jacket lapel. This time, when Wade kissed him, it wasn’t as an afterthought; it was deep, passionate, and stole the breath from his lungs. To feel this way, to feel dominated, almost powerless, was something he’d never wished to feel. He was a cop – he craved order, control over any situation he was in. So why did he lean into Wade so desperately? Why did he allow himself to be so utterly at the mercy of this man who held such sway over him? He moaned as Wade’s lips traversed the river of his throat, his teeth biting at the tender skin beneath his ear, at his hairline. Quentin allowed his head to roll back, providing no obstacle, closing his eyes. The fingers trapping his arm against the wall released him, targeting instead the region of his lower body that he had never dreamed another man would touch in this way. Wade pushed one of his knees between Quentin’s legs, forcing them apart and bringing their bodies closer together. Almost automatically, Quentin’s fingers began fumbling with the buttons on Wade’s shirt, pushing the fabric aside and exploring Wade’s firm chest. Since when did chest hair cause the blood to rush in his head? Why were the carved abs decorating Wade’s stomach making his knees weak?

Wade dropped to his knees on the wood floor and began deftly undoing Quentin’s belt and pants, pulling them roughly down his hips with his boxers. Quentin wasn’t quite hard yet, but he exclaimed in surprised ecstasy when Wade took him into his mouth. Peter was always eager and subservient, taking Quentin and Wade’s cocks in any hole requested in his desire to please them. This was different; Wade was doing this because it turned him on too – his moans humming in the back of his throat as he began to palm his own erection through his pants. He pressed the length of his forearm against Quentin’s abdomen, not hard enough to physically keep him there, but with enough meaning to be clear that Quentin was to Stay Put.

“That good?” he asked breathlessly, looking up through the half-dark at Quentin’s face.

“Don’t stop, asshole!” Quentin growled, grabbing a fistful of Wade’s hair and thrusting into his mouth. To have this powerful man on his knees before him, his tongue lapping at his cock, was making him higher than a fucking kite. Wade sucked hungrily, one hand squeezing Quentin’s ass cheek, the other pumping at his own cock.

Before Quentin’s orgasm had a chance to build, Wade rose to his feet, forcing his tongue inside Quentin’s mouth so he could taste himself. Grabbing Quentin’s shirt, he tugged him in the direction of the nearest bedroom (his own) and practically ripped the remainder of his clothes from him. He’d seen Quentin naked many times by now, but this time he was _his_. Peter was the axel that held the three of them together, but Wade wanted to create that last bond and seal them all together in the perfect triangle.

Quentin’s knees hit the edge of Wade’s unmade bed and he sat down, watching as Wade hastily removed his own clothes.

“You’re so _fucking_ hot,” Wade growled, running his fingers almost savagely through Quentin’s thick hair, forcing his face upwards. “D’you want me to fuck you?”

Quentin decided to regain some control of the situation, a glint sparkling wickedly in his storm-blue eyes.

“No,” he said. Wade faltered for a second. “ _I_ want to fuck _you_.”

Wade almost leapt at him, pushing him down on the mattress so hard the pressure was painful.

“You want to come in me?” Wade straddled Quentin’s body, their hard cocks rubbing together against their stomachs. Quentin grabbed the back of Wade’s head and wrenched him down, their lips working furiously. “ _Say it_.” Wade snarled, his desperate lust battling with his irrepressible desire for dominance.

“I want to fucking come inside you,” Quentin replied. “I want to fuck you like a back-alley whore.”

“As _if_ you could afford me,” Wade sneered. “And don’t even _think_ you get to be on top. I’m gonna ride you like a fucking cowboy, pal.”

The click of the door latch gave both men momentary pause, the jingle of keys being dropped on the side table announcing Peter’s return.

“I’m home,” his sweet voice called. “You guys th—?”

His slim figure appeared in the doorway, words evaporating into the air as he took in the scene. He dropped his bag heavily to the floor and stepped inside the messy room. Wade held out a welcoming arm, but he shook his head.

“Don’t stop,” he commanded, unzipping the fly of his jeans and rubbing his cock through the fabric of his undershorts.

Wade grinned like a Cheshire cat and unearthed a bottle of lube from the folds of the duvet. Depositing a sizeable palmful onto his hand, he slicked Quentin’s waiting erection from tip to base. He expected Quentin to keep his eyes on Peter as he lowered himself onto his cock, but Quentin kept his gaze locked onto Wade’s, his fingers finding a hold on the taller man’s waist.

“Nuh-uh,” Wade grunted, bearing through the satisfying burn as he was stretched. “You’re not leading _this_ charge, soldier." Linking their fingers together, he forced Quentin’s hands against the pillow, either side of his head, and sunk fully to the hilt. Quentin’s eyes rolled back in bliss as Wade rose up on his haunches before dropping back down.

Meanwhile, Peter was watching this private show with lust-soaked fascination, the fingers of his right hand stroking his eager cock like a virgin schoolboy at his computer. He had never imagined this scenario, but now it was here, he knew it was what his mental spank-bank had been missing. He admired the tautness of Wade’s thigh muscles as he moved up and down, the way his hole stretched around Quentin’s thick cock, like his own usually did. To see it happening to someone else was like stepping out of himself, watching through a screen – his own pornographic movie with the most perfect cast imaginable.

“Kid,” Wade gasped, reaching out for him with the hand that wasn’t pumping his own cock. “Here, now.”

Peter stumbled across the room and stood by the bedside. He recognised the noises both men were making – they were both close to climax.

“Stick your cock in his mouth,” Wade demanded.

Quentin looked unsure but tugged Peter towards him all the same. Peter bent over the bed, his elbows resting on the wall, and almost cried out as Quentin’s lips wrapped around his cock. He began to unconsciously thrust into the warm wet cavern of his mouth, his orgasm building like a wave about to crash. At the last moment, he pulled himself away and spurting his seed over the writhing bodies below, the trails glistening against their damp skin.

“I’m coming . . . Wade, I’m coming . . .” Quentin gasped, breaking his hands free to fasten them on Wade’s hips. Wade didn’t protest as Quentin began to thrust like a piston into him, every knock against his prostate like a light bolt of pleasure through his body. As he came, sperm shooting across Quentin’s stomach and chest, the clenching of his asshole milked a crescendo from Quentin, and he cried out Wade’s name as his hot seed spilled into him.

Wade and Quentin both pulled Peter down into their mess of tangled limbs, their skin sliding against each other from sweat and come. Wade couldn’t have imagined a more perfect play-out for his plan. Ideally, he’d wanted to fuck Quentin himself, to see his perfect features contort as he pushed into him, but this was a step in the right direction.

Besides, it had been fucking amazing. 

Peter hummed happily.

“What?” Quentin stroked his soft hair.

“Just makes a nice change not to be on clean-up duty,” he said.

“It won’t last,” Wade promised, lifting Peter’s hand and kissing his palm, licking the skin that had been enclosed around his cock.

“Can we have a rota?” Peter asked. “Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays are good for me.”

“I don’t work weekends,” Quentin quipped. The three of them dissolved into a pile of giggles.

Over Peter’s head, the two men’s eyes locked. Wade leaned over and they kissed deeply. Quentin couldn’t have begun to describe what they were – boyfriends, lovers – but at that moment, he couldn’t bring himself to care. They’d ascended to a new level, and he was looking forward to the next upward step. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please please please PLEASE leave any comments or thoughts you may have! They give me such drive and inspiration to write more! Plus I'm a needy bitch whose self-worth is dependant on outside validation! :D

**Author's Note:**

> Please please please leave any comments or feedback below! It really helps me strive to write more and helps my anxiety more than Prozac!


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